


Small matters

by Elisexyz



Series: We could build a house [5]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Bethlem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 05:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: James is fine. He will return soon. Thomas just needs to stay calm until then.(He isn't mad, really, he isn't.)





	Small matters

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Every now and then I like torturing poor Thomas too. This is technically part of a collection, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. Enjoy!

_James is fine_.

A thunder startles Thomas out of his skin, and he realizes too late that squeezing his eyes shut only prevented him from being warned by the lightning bolt.

_James is _fine.

He just needs to stay calm. Yes, it is unfortunate that James and Mr Nolan decided to go fishing precisely on the day that this awful storm happened to make an appearance, but there is no reason to assume that they aren’t back on land already.

Thomas shouldn’t have encouraged him to go. He thought it’d help him find some peace with whom he’s become, he thought that something as simple as going out on a boat to fish would ease his conscience like talking things out with him seemed to do—and it worked, as far as Thomas could tell.

Right now, though, he is regretting the suggestion with every fibre of his being.

But James has been sailing for so long, he has spent years as a navy officer and years as a _pirate_, for Christ’s sake, he must have withstood too many storms to count. There is no reason to worry, no reason at all. He will be back soon.

Or perhaps, comes the sudden thought, he was never there at all. Perhaps this is all his fervid imagination, and he never was reunited with James. Perhaps he will wake up tied to a bed, as he has finally gone mad.

_I am not mad_, he recites, firmly, like he has done so many times before. _I was never mad_.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes fixated out of the window where he can barely see a thing through the wall of rain and growling wind, and he absent-mindedly starts chewing his nails, an habit that he picked up in Bethlem and that he has stopped deluding himself will ever leave him.

_My name is Thomas Hamilton. My wife is Miranda Hamilton. My lover is James McGraw. I am not mad_.

Back in Bethlem, he used to keep himself grounded by repeating those few facts, by revelling in the thought that James and Miranda were out there somewhere, together and safe, if nothing else.

Miranda is gone now, but James is fine. He must be.

_My name is Thomas Hamilton_—

The sound of the door being pushed open, letting in the roaring of the storm outside, makes Thomas jump on his seat, his heart racing like it’s about to collapse. It takes him a few extra seconds to realize that James just walked through the door, soaked to the bone but on his own two feet.

“James,” he chokes out, relief washing through him as he quickly walks in his direction.

James closes the door behind him, grimacing in disapproval when he notices the giant puddle that he has created on the floor by merely stepping in.

He is alright.

“Well, that is quite the storm,” James comments, offering a quick smile. “I’d come over there and kiss you, but—” He vaguely gestures to his dripping clothes. He is going to catch a cold, at best.

“You are soaked,” Thomas says, his tone edging slightly towards reprimand. Everything seems to be spinning in the right direction again, now that he is back home. Thomas still can’t really _breathe_ right, but that will pass soon enough, even more certainly if he stops dwelling on it. “You should have taken shelter by the docks, instead of making all the way back here.”

James raises his eyebrows. “And wait what could have been hours, while you eat through all of your fingers wondering where I am?”

Thomas bites his lip, shaking his head slightly and turning to go grab a blanket. “I wasn’t eating—”

“Before you complete that sentence, I should probably let you know that I will check your nails as soon as you are back over here.”

Thomas puffs, the warning effectively shutting him up.

Of course James knows of his little vice, and he also understands that it is a signal that things were spiralling down pretty worryingly. But the last thing that Thomas wants is for James to add such an insignificant matter to his list of concerns: he knows how to deal with that kind of problem, it is hardly worth troubling James over.

He also knows James to be stubborn enough not to let this go, the way Thomas himself wouldn’t were their roles reversed.

“Alright,” Thomas caves, holding the blanket as James gets out of his clothes. “I’ll admit, I was very worried. I didn’t know if you were still at sea, and with this weather—” He trials off, and James gives him a comforting smile.

“We came back before the storm got too bad,” he assures. “A decade as a pirate captain is bound to teach you a few tricks.”

Thomas manages a shaky nod, his discomfort resurfacing as he thinks back to how utterly _terrified_ he had been, and James must notice, because he is quick to wipe his face with the blanket, then he wraps it around his shoulders and he takes a step forward, cupping his hand behind Thomas’ neck and gently stroking him with his thumb.

“I’m alright,” he says, softly. “I promise.”

Thomas draws in a deep breath, nodding once before leaning forward to press his forehead against James’ for a moment.

_He is alright_. _Breathe in, breathe out. He is alright_.

“We ought to make sure that you don’t catch a cold, though,” Thomas eventually says, pulling back. “Perhaps a bath would be a good idea.”

“Wonderful. _More_ water,” James comments, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. Thomas can’t help noticing that he feels like ice to the touch, and knowing the man he will soon be lamenting the cold – back in London, Thomas always found a bit of amusement in the amount of blankets that James needed to sleep throughout chilly nights.

“I will join you,” Thomas offers, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as James suddenly appears a lot more interested.

“Oh, well,” he says, clicking his tongue. “In _that_ case.”

_He is alright. He is home, and he is alright_.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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